Grounded
by Grasspaw
Summary: When most little girls misbehave, they get sent to their rooms. When Elle Bishop disobeys, she gets locked into a cell for the day. Luckily for her, though, she has a neighbor. A very interesting man named Adam...


**kay, so I know this isn't how the whole ninth-birthday-IV-of-lithium thing actually happened, but I like my version better. Enjoy. I won nothing.**

Adam Monroe lay on his back on the floor, fingers hooked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. It wasn't that spectacular, really; he'd had very few tools to work with, but he thought he'd done a fairly decent job of it. Not many people could write their entire life story on the ceiling of a cell they'd been in for several years... At least, not many people could do so with their own blood. He'd spent weeks thinking about it, carefully coming up with each word he would use, before finally asking for a pencil and several sheets of paper. He had first written down every word he had come up with over the past weeks, then he stabbed himself with the pencil a few times, stood on the table, and started writing.

It had taken longer than he expected. Weeks, actually. Now he just laid back and admired his work, having finished only a few minutes ago. He was proud of the fact that he'd managed to keep the blood from dripping too much, only a few drops here and there on the floor.

He wondered whether or not he could be considered clinically insane yet. No one had talked to him in years, he'd stopped eating a decade ago. After a few months of leaving the food untouched they had stopped wasting it on him. He supposed there were other prisoners that would die if they didn't eat...

He missed seeing the person who would bring the food. Sure, the man was old - decrepit, really. He looked as old as Adam felt most days. The old silver-haired geezer had never said anything to him, but just the sight of another human face had been a joy he hadn't realized he was even feeling until it was taken away from him.

The one person he had even _seen_lately was a little blond girl who would occasionally pass by his cell, checking over her shoulder every few steps. He had watched her curiously every time this happened - three times and counting - drinking in the sight of her. He wondered who she was, what a child was doing here.

But he wasn't thinking about her right now. Instead he just reread the words he had written. Three hundred and forty-seven years worth of information about one man...

A noise startle him out of his reverie. Voices. Two of them.

He sat up, straining his ear to hear the words, the sweetest music he had ever heard. No matter that the man's voice was angry and the girl's voice was teary. They were people, not just empty memories like he sometimes amused himself with.

"But Daddy, he said-"

"I don't care what he said, Elle! You don't shock people like that."

"I don't like when they do the tests."

"Well that _would_have been one of the last ones, if you hadn't blasted him like that. You're going to have to do that again."

The voices were close, so close... The little girl... Was she the same one he had seen pass by here several times? He couldn't think of any other children within the Company's walls. Of course, he was somewhat out of the loop.

And the man. Who was he? The voice was familiar, sort of, but as he hadn't heard another voice in years he couldn't place it. Angry, he was definitely angry, Adam knew that much. It was slightly cheering to know he still knew what emotions were. But maybe that was because he himself was always angry... And was that a trace of greed entering into his words in that last sentence?

He heard a door open and perked up, feeling just a little bit shocked. There was another cell next to his, but no one had ever occupied it, at least not while he was there. The girl must be dangerous. Even if she was only a child, some human company would be nice. Someone to talk to...

"I will come get you," the man snapped, "tomorrow. You have been a very bad girl, Elle. You're grounded."

Adam almost laughed. How many other little girls could say they were locked into a cell when they misbehaved? Not many, he was sure.

The door slammed. He heard the retreating footsteps. Whoever it was must have come in the back way; they didn't pass in front of his cell. It was only when the footsteps faded into silence that he heard the child crying, heart-wrenching sobs that almost made him feel bad for her.

Now, as a general rule, Adam Monroe did not like children. They were noisy and bothersome and so blasted _curious._ "What's this? How does this work? _Why?"_

No, he didn't like children.

But all the same, children were people. There was a person mere feet away from him. And if he could hear her so clearly, then it stood to reason she could hear him.

"Hello?" he asked quietly, willing his voice to sound more soothing than it usually did. Calming, friendly, understanding. He was an expert at this; he sometimes wondered whether he couldn't have been an actor if he so chose. He certainly knew how.

"Hello?" he called again, a little bit louder, and the crying ceased, though she still sniffed several times.

"Hello?" she called back, and he heard the _creeeaaak_of those horrible mattresses the Company had put in these cells. "Where are you?"

"I believe I'm in the cell next to you. Let's see... if you face the glass, I would be on your left." His voice softened even more. "Are you all right?"

She sniffed again but said defiantly, "I'm_ fine."_

He moved closer to the wall, finally discovering what it was that allowed them to converse so freely: an air vent between the two rooms. He didn't question it.

"Everyone always says that," he said calmly, "but most people don't really mean it. I'm not fine."

She didn't answer for several seconds, then said, tears in her voice, "My daddy keeps running tests on me. He makes me use my power a lot, but it hurts, and he won't stop even when I ask nice."

Despite the fact that he still wanted to kill the majority of earth's population, Adam wouldn't have condoned the testing. He didn't really like to hurt people; he preferred quick, mostly painless deaths. It would have been much nicer, as well as easier. His pity was aroused.

"I'm sorry." She sniffed but didn't answer, so he ventured, "I've been tested on, too."

"You have?" she asked curiously, and he heard her moving closer towards him so that she was closer to the wall. He leaned against said wall, next to the grates, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms.

"Yes. They wanted to see how much my powers could take." He paused. "It turns out, quite a lot."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

He had to smile, because the girl had finally finished crying. "I'm Adam. What's your name?"

"Elle."

"That's a beautiful name, Elle."

"Thanks. Adam's pretty nice, too."

"Thank you."

"Are you the man that was writing on the ceiling?" she asked innocently, and he raised his eyebrows. He hadn't realized anyone had known what he was doing.

"Yes, that was me."

"I saw you sometimes. When I was hiding. I come down here sometimes and you've been standing on that table writing for a long time."

"Two weeks and six days."

"Yeah. What were you writing?"

"A story."

"A story? About what? Is it a good one? Will you read it to me?"

"I'm afraid it's not a very happy story, Elle. You might not like it."

"I want to hear it," she snapped. "What's it about?"

"It's about me," he replied, irked by her tone. "And no, I will not read it to- AAAUUUGH!" He was thrown forward, almost careening into the opposite wall, his right side burning. He watched as the skin knitted itself back together, then turned to see that the grate had hit the opposite wall, and that the piece of metal was smoking. He looked back at the hole where the metal had been, eyes wide. The little girl was looking at him through it, an annoyed expression on her face.

"What did you do, Elle?"

"I don't like your tone," she said in a voice that implied this had been said to her many times. She inched the rest of the way forward, tumbling out onto the floor of his cell. "So I shot the metal because if you won't read me the story I'll read it myself."

"You shot it? Is that your power, then? Telekinesis?"

She wrinkled her nose up in confusion. "What's telephone-esis? I make electricity." She demonstrated by shooting a blue spark at him. It singed a hole through his cheek.

"That's nice. I heal," he said, gesturing towards said cheek as the wound closed up.

"Cool." She flopped over backwards, staring at the ceiling. She pointed towards a section at the very beginning. "You said this was story, but stories have words and those aren't words. They're pictures."

"Actually they are words," he said brightly. "It's written in another language. Japanese, to be specific."

"Oh. What's it say?"

He thought for a moment, then decided that the child didn't need to know all the details. "That's about the time when my name used to be Takezo Kensei. I was a warrior in Japan a very long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"Over three hundred years ago." She scoffed.

"No one can be that old." She didn't give him a chance to reply, instead pointing at another section. "How 'bout that one? Those are words but I don't know what they say."

He looked where she was pointing, scooting closer and sitting with his legs crossed, leaning his head back to look. "That's in Italian."

"Were you a warrior in Italy, too?"

He smiled. "No, I wasn't. I sang."

"Really?" she asked curiously, rolling onto her side to look at him. "Were you good?"

"I rather liked to think so. I made good money from it, anyways."

"Would you sing me something?"

He wouldn't, actually, under normal circumstances, but these were hardly normal circumstances. "What would you like me to sing?"

"I turn nine tomorrow. Can you sing happy birthday for me?"

"I can sing it in Italian, if you'd like."

"Really? Do it." She sat up and watched him curiously as he obliged, his rich baritone filling the small room. He was actually surprised he remembered the words; it had been several hundred years since he had last sung the song. It brought back memories of smoky rooms, the taste of wine, standing on a platform and watching couples slow dance to his words...

"Good job," Elle said, by way of thanks. "That one was really good." Again, the way she spoke suggested that she was simply repeating a phrase that was often said to her. He smiled at her anyways.

"Thank you."

She laid back down again. "What language is that one?"

He himself laid down now to see where the child was pointing. "That one's French."

"What did you do there?"

He was slightly reluctant to admit that he had simply stolen whatever he needed, so he replied, "Oh, this and that."

"That's not a good enough answer."

"But that's what I did."

Apparently the girl had actually been reading the words, because she asked, "Who's Frederica?"

"Do you read French?" he asked, surprised and annoyed. Always more questions with children.

"No, but that word's in there a buncha times, and I know it's a name because my cousin's girlfriend was named that, but we all called her Freddie." So the girl was smart enough to pick out a name. Good for her, not so good for him.

"Frederica," he said ponderously, "was my wife."

"Where is she now?"

"She's dead."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right."

"Do you miss her?" she asked innocently, glancing at him curiously. He shrugged as best he could while lying down.

"It was a long time ago."

"That's not a good enough answer," she repeated sternly, and he wondered why she seemed unable to say anything without making it sound like she was simply repeating something said to her before.

"Sometimes I do." Like right now. Remembering her beautiful face, the way she had gasped for breath while lying on her deathbed, the way he had burned down the building where she bought all that stupid makeup that had led to her death.

"How 'bout that one?"

"That's German."

"And that one?"

"Old English." He'd written every portion of his life in the language he experienced it in, and while he'd been born in the 1600s he hadn't been able to resist writing about his time in England in that manner.

"Like Chaucer."

"Do you read Chaucer?"

"When there's nothing else to do I steal Daddy's books, but it's better when someone reads it to me. The words are pretty, but I can never say 'em right."

Adam gathered his thoughts, then began to speak in a slow, steady voice:

"'Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote  
>The droghte of Match hath perced to the roote,<br>And bathed every veyne in swich licour  
>Or which vertu engenred is the flour.'<p>

Do you recognize that?"

"Yeah. That parts at the beginning, right? The guy with the glasses read it to me a few times, but then when I looked at it it didn't look like it sounded."

"It was a very strange language."

"Yeah, it's weird."

"Mm."

"Hey, Adam?"

"Yes, Elle?"

"What are you here for? Daddy says they put the bad guys down here so they can't hurt people."

Adam knew an opportunity when he saw one.

"You're here, aren't you? Are you a bad guy?"

That made her think. "Daddy says I'm naughty."

"But there's a difference, don't you think? Between being naughty and being a bad guy."

"The bad guys try to take over the world. I don't want to do that. I just want them to stop hurting me."

"That's what I wanted too, Elle, but instead they just locked me up in here and left me to rot."

"That's not very nice."

"No, it's not really."

"Are they going to leave me in here to rot, too?"

"You're daddy said he was coming back tomorrow, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but he tells lies."

"I don't think he'd leave you here as long as they've left me."

"How do you _know?_"

He crossed his ankles and laced his fingers together behind his head. "I don't, really. No one can ever really know what the people here would do. But I'd like to think they wouldn't hurt you like that."

She sat up now, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at him with tear-filled blue eyes. He sat up so as to look at her better.

"But they _do_hurt me already! They shock me and they tell me to use my power more and more and more."

"Have you asked them to stop?"

"Of course I have, dummy," she said, looking disgusted. "But they don't listen. I tried to make them stop today, but all that happened was that I got locked up in here."

"That's not fair," he said, summoning all the righteous indignation he could.

"I tried to run away one time," she said softly, resting her chin on her knees, "but they stopped me and gave me a bunch of drugs. Then they ran more tests."

"Did you try again?"

"No. You can't get out of here if they don't want you to," she said, her voice shockingly bitter for a child. At least, shocking for anyone who didn't understand the horrors this Company was willing to inflict on people who disobeyed...

"Maybe," he said seriously. "At least, not by yourself."

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean."

"I think," he said slowly, "we can help each other. We both want to escape, don't we, Elle? I can't do it because my power doesn't work that way. You can't do it because they're all bigger than you."

"But together..." she said excitedly, eyes bright, tears drying.

"We can do it."

"It'll be an adventure!"

"A grand one," he said, grinning at her and standing up, holding out his hand to her. "What do you say, Elle? Partners?"

"Partners," she said firmly, allowing him to help her to her feet. She was surprisingly light, and electricity crackled from her fingers to his, singing his flesh. He didn't mind.

"Okay," he said. "Do you think you could break the glass?"

"That glass?" she scoffed, gesturing towards the giant window. "Of course I can. Do you want me to?" she asked eagerly, a blue ball of pure electricity appearing over her hand as she took aim.

"Not yet," he said quickly. "We need a plan first."

"Okay," she said, looking disappointed.

"You can shoot the window soon," he promised her. "No worries. Now here's what we should do..."

"He'd been planning his escape for years, though he had to make a few hasty changes considering the fact that his accomplice was a child. Despite what the founders might think, he wasn't the type to ditch her right in the middle of things; he had every intention of seeing her safely away from the Primatech building, then dropping her off at an orphanage and heading off for parts unknown. Maybe check out England again; he hadn't been in several decades. No, first he would visit Trina's grave...

Ten minutes later, he stood behind Elle and waited. "Ready?"

"Yep," she said, and he knew she was grinning. It was rather disturbing that she took this much delight in destroying others' property.

"Then let's see what you can do."

Five seconds later the window was shattered, and he very calmly picked up several shards of glass. "Glad you're wearing shoes," he said with a grin. "Need help climbing out?"

"Yes, please."

He lifted her through the giant hole, then climbed up after her, holding one dagger-sized piece of glass in each hand.

"All right. Someone will have heard that. Think you can take out those cameras?" He pointed at said offending machines, and Elle nodded, still grinning like a little maniac.

"You got it."

The girl's aim was flawless, he'd give her that. Much as he despised the thought of running tests on a child, he was silently grateful for them, also. His power was all but useless when it came to offense.

They didn't meet any guards until they were halfway down the hallway, at which point several armed agents came spilling out of a conference room on the right.

One of them, the one in the lead, spoke into his earpiece, "Sir, she's just a kid!"

"Shoot!" someone in the back yelled. "Don't kill her, just-"

Adam jumped in front of Elle, taking three bullets in the gut for it. He groaned, but pushed through it anyways, staying front of Elle and fighting the urge to collapse.

"Elle!" he snarled. "Now!"

"I don't-" she began, but he cut her off.

"They just shot me! _Stop them!_"

Mere seconds later the agents were lying unconscious on the floor. Adam had taken four more shots - two in the chest, one in his leg, and still another in his shoulder - and now pried a gun out of man's limp fingers.

"Thanks, carp," Adam muttered, holding said weapon at the ready as he and Elle advanced, Elle looking almost curiously at the people on the ground. For a child, she didn't seem too upset at having just nearly killed six people. Again he was almost grateful for the Company's testing; it had hardened her.

They kept going, Elle shocking people and cameras, he shooting them. He tried not to kill anyone; he was with a child, after all, and these were just regular agents. He would save the killing blow for one of the twelve.

And speak of the Devil...

"Elle!" Bob Bishop shouted, running towards them. Unarmed. Genius, Bobby.

"Daddy!" Elle snarled, electricity sparking from her fingers. "Get out of the way! I'm leaving!"

"No, you're not," Bob said patiently. "Elle, it would hurt my feelings if you left me." He smiled at her and held out his arms. "Come on, baby girl. Come to Daddy."

Adam was tempted to shoot him right there, but he needed a weapon and Elle was the best available to him at the moment. Even if she looked like she wanted to obey. Even if the thin blue lines of electricity had stopped arcing over her body the way they were before.

He kept the gun pointed at Bob, but in a way so that Elle wouldn't see it. The girl clearly still loved her father, at least somewhat, so seeing him with a gun pointed at the man's head might make it a bit difficult to trust him.

"Elle, don't do it," he hissed. "He locked you in a cell, remember?"

"No, Daddy!" Elle snapped. "I hate you! I hate everything you do to me, and I'm leaving! Adam's going to be my new Daddy!"

Aw, how sweet. Terribly misguided, but sweet.

"Elle, I'm your daddy," Bob said, sounding almost plaintive. Adam didn't fall for it, but he thought Elle might. "Please, Eleanor, come back to me. I'll miss you if you leave."

She looked up at Adam helplessly. "Should I?"

"Remember the testing, Elle. Remember all the bad things they've done to you." He looked around the hallway. They were losing their chance. He didn't see any agents, but that didn't mean they weren't there, lurking out of sight...

"No more testing, Elle. I promise."

"He's lying, Elle! Don't believe him!"

"Elle, come to Daddy."

"Stay here, Elle. He's lying to you."

"Elle, come."

"Don't do it!"

"Come on, sweetie, come to Daddy."

"Stay here. He's going to hurt you."

"Elle..."

"Elle!"

The little girl clapped her hands over her ears, whimpering.

"Elle!" Adam shouted. "Listen to me! You need to get him out of the way, _now_!"

"He's my daddy!" she screamed back at him. "I can't hurt him!"

"I love you, Elle."

Bob's words cut through her cries like a knife, and Adam knew he needed to do something drastic. Elle had fallen for it. He had actually forseen that and knew what he would do next...

As the little girl started forward, Adam wrapped his arm around her neck and yanked her back against him, holding the gun against her head. She whimpered.

"Adam, stop it," she whispered, shaking. "That hurts."

"Wonderful." He narrowed his eyes at Bob. "You let us go or I'll kill her." He cocked the gun, pressing it more firmly against her temple. "Would you want to deal with that? The death of a little girl, your own _daughter,_Bobby?"

"Adam, let her go."

"Oh, no. You can let me out of the building first and let me get far enough away to stay safe. By body rejected the isotrope, remember? Don't worry, though, I'll send Elle back once she's no longer useful."

The little girl whimpered again, clawing desperately at his arm and kicking her legs, but he tightened his hold on her, effectively stopping her futile attempts to break free.

"What do you say, Bob? Are you going to let me go or let your daughter die?" Bob didn't say anything, so Adam slowly slid the gun down the girl's face until it rested against her shoulder. "I can do it slowly. Would that convince you? Maybe a nice loud scream will do better than words..."

Bob was still staring at the gun. "I'm not going to let you go, Adam," he said faintly. Elle whimpered once more.

"All right then," Adam said with a shrug. "On the count of three, then? One... two..."

Elle did scream, before he even pulled the trigger, and the gun was knocked out of his hand as he was thrown backwards from the force of the elctric shockwave Elle released. The lights in the hallway flickered and died, and he slammed into the wall. Immediately there were hands grabbing at him, people he hadn't seen jabbing a needle of something into his arm, and then blackness descended and he was gone.

He awoke in his cell. No, not his cell. A different one. The ceiling was clean. No words, no blood, no memories.

No little girl.

What had happened to her, he wondered. He had gotten one last image of her collapsed on the ground, shaking, electricity arcing over her body, Bob crawling towards her and shouting incoherently.

He hadn't intended to kill her, he thought bitterly. He would have shot her a few times if necesarry, but once they were gone he'd simply inject some of his blood in her and she'd be fine. No big deal. She hadn't needed to kill him...

He'd lost his chance. He was trapped here. Never to leave again, never to get his revenge on Hiro, never to see sunlight, feel wind again... Nothing.

He was trapped.


End file.
